News
by Lasrevinu
Summary: Hanging out in the break room. Catherine’s POV


Disclaimer: Own not CSI do I. Says Yoda.

Rating: T

Spoilers: Come on, would you really be reading this if you didn't watch the freaking show?

Summary: Hanging out in the break room. Catherine's POV.

**News**

Sam had been bugging her for some time with Lindsey again. And her mother -- a woman much too naïve considering the number of times she'd circled the block -- was championing her ex at every opportunity. Catherine had made Lily swear on her life not to let Sam see Lindsey while she was at work and though the CSI knew promises were easily broken, Lily Flynn was a horrible liar and knew it.

Lindsey, aware of her mother's shaky relationship with Sam Braun, was very vocal about her desire to visit her grandfather. Teenage rebellion was something Catherine knew much about. She had practiced dissent at every opportunity since she was old enough to realize that the "uncles" her mother brought home for sleepovers were not doing any sleeping. At fourteen she had lost her virginity to her high school's second string quarterback and, at fifteen, she was smoking joints under the bleachers with a dropout in a rock band.

By sixteen, she was pregnant and a dropout herself.

If Catherine had to pinpoint the moment when rebellion begat anarchy, that was it. She sat back in a ratty break room chair, tuning out the buzz of the television, as she sighed to herself. Lily had wanted her to keep it; the baby had her eyes, her mouth.

"She looks like a rose," her mother had said moments after twenty-one hours of horrible natural childbirth. "Let's call her Rose. Rose," she had smiled, tickling the baby's chin.

In a rare moment of clarity, young Catherine Flynn took in her surroundings: her aging showgirl mother, the cheap, cracked walls of the city hospital -- the only one they could afford, the fatherless child in her arms. She could've been holding herself.

No, the Flynn dynasty would end right there.

Catherine and a reluctant Lily signed the necessary adoption papers and then life resumed for them both, the strained mother/daughter relationship now brittle to the point of breaking. Years of hard knocks and bad luck made Catherine wise, and the birth of Lindsey Lillian Willows healed some of the old wounds. But not all.

Sam still hurt. His existence hurt. The moment Catherine realized that he was her father, all the pain in her past boiled to the surface. She remembered every single father's day class project she falsely participated in -- the split pea-covered pencil holder, the clothespin tie clip, the frame decorated with glittered-up macaroni. She remembered all the nights she was home alone while her mother worked on the stage. She remembered all the eviction notices, the living from paycheck to paycheck, the moves to cheaper and still cheaper apartments. And all the while, Sam was living it up with a pool, a mansion, a maid and a cook…Catherine didn't live in a home with air-conditioning until she was twenty-eight. His criminal past was icing on the rancid cake -- but the hurt stemmed from his absence, from the fact that he'd let his own child do without for so very long.

Sam had insisted that he tried to help all those years but that Lily was too proud -- and Catherine knew that he was probably telling the truth -- but she couldn't imagine taking no for an answer if Lindsey were in trouble.

As fate would have it, the local news began its human interest story, starring millionaire philanthropist Samuel J. Braun. Catherine's head snapped up as she watched her father on the screen. He was shaking hands with a man in scrubs and a white lab coat, and the two adults were surrounded by several bald children beaming at the camera.

"…and this donation is one of many that the hospital has received from this Las Vegas icon," the reporter droned. "Mr. Braun's new pediatric oncology wing will go a long way to treating these brave children." Catherine watched as Sam bent down and whispered something in a little girl's ear, making her giggle.

"Do you want me to shut it off?"

She blinked at Grissom. He was sitting at the table on the far side of the room, sipping a coffee and flipping through the latest forensics journal. She furrowed her brows and he waved the remote control at her. "The channel? Do you want me to change it?"

Catherine shrugged. "No, don't bother. It's okay."

He watched her for a long moment and she knew by now that the awkward entomologist was wondering if there was something comforting that human beings were supposed to say when their friend's long-lost murderous father appeared on television making a sick little girl laugh. "Is Sam…are you guys…well…"

"Have we kissed and made up? No," Catherine answered flatly.

"Oh," he said and then pressed his lips together.

She narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What? You want the skinny? Sam calls me _every single day _asking if he can come over and drop a present off for Lindsey or take her out to the circus or a concert. He's taking my mother on the QE II and he invited Lindsey to go along, so now I have to hear all about how I'm the worst mother on Earth because I won't let my daughter go to England with her shady grandparents," Catherine fumed. "And I will get a call from Lindsey the minute she hears that he gave money to a bunch of sick kids because she's going to want to know why I won't let her be near a man who does nothing but give his money away to people who need it. And I'll bite my tongue and not tell her the truth because, for some freakish reason, I won't badmouth my father to Lindsey."

Eyes wide, Grissom seemed to scan the room for an exit.

"So you have nothing to say?"

He raised his brows. "I don't think you want to hear what I have to say."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Try me."

"At least you have a father."

"So you're playing the dead father card now?"

"I'm not playing, Catherine," Grissom said solemnly. "I'm just saying…you have a father. He's not perfect…_at all_. But you've got one. Warrick never met his. Sara's died a long time ago," he added and then froze, and Catherine could tell that information wasn't meant to be shared. "Look, my point is it's a problem that's better to have than to not have. If that makes any sense."

She knew where he was coming from. It didn't make her life any easier, but she did understand his line of reasoning. "Grissom, I know what life without a dad is like."

"Yeah, but…you've got one now. I haven't had a father for forty years and if one day someone showed up and told me, 'Your dad is living in such-and-such state and is a criminal,' I'd still want to see him. I'd be disappointed in him -- at the path he had chosen," Grissom assured her, "but I'd still love him. I'd still…I don't know. His memory would be tainted, yes, but sometimes an imperfect reality is better than imagined perfection."

Catherine tipped her head up and eyed him. "That really screwed you up, didn't it?"

He raised his eyebrows. "The death of a parent on any child is never easy. You should know from raising Lindsey."

She was well aware that his comment was meant to stop the conversation in its tracks, but Catherine wasn't deterred. "Why bugs? Why didn't you become a botanist, too?"

"My mother got rid of all the plants in the house after my father died. She couldn't look at them anymore."

"How did he die?"

"Thoracic aortic aneurysm," Grissom said, staring at the television blankly. "I looked up the coroner's report when I was eighteen."

Catherine cringed. Poor kid, she thought. Grissom was still so young in many ways. Where she had experienced so much of what life had to offer firsthand, he had observed life through a lens from a safe distance. Grissom still had some growing up to do.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this," he said quietly. "I'd rather it not be known."

"Gil, it's nothing to be ashamed about."

"I'm not ashamed. I'd just…rather people not define me by my parents. I really do envy the fact that you're comfortable being an open book but…I'd prefer to keep secrets to myself."

Catherine scoffed. "You think you guys know everything about me? Grissom, the whole my-dad-killed-his-girlfriend thing is the tip of the iceberg. How about we go tit for tat and I tell you something that no one knows? Will you feel better with some collateral?" She glanced outside the door into the hallway to make sure there was no one passing by and then took a deep breath. "I'm a grandmother."

Grissom coughed. "Excuse me?"

"I'm a grandmother."

His eyes were as big as saucers. "Catherine, isn't Lindsey only thirteen?"

"Oh, God, you really are an idiot. I had a kid when I was a teenager. I gave her up," Catherine explained. "Her name is Chelsea; she's thirty-one and lives in Denver. And she's got two kids. Miles is seven and Maggie is four."

"Miles and…"

"And Maggie," Catherine nodded. "Chelsea sends me Hanukah cards every year with the kids' pictures. I haven't told Lindsey yet."

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow."

He started to laugh. At first, Grissom attempted to cover his chuckles up with coughs, but the laughter broke through and within a minute, Catherine watched in amazement as her old friend giggled his ass off.

"You keep this up, I may get offended."

"I'm sorry," he tittered. "I just find it…really funny. No offense."

Grissom managed to compose himself before Catherine could get pissed off. He turned back to his magazine and took another sip from his coffee. Catherine resumed her reclined position on the old break room chair and watched the rest of the news. Iraq, the president, commercial. More Iraq, entertainment fodder, health watch…

"And the Food and Drug Administration made public today the preliminary evaluations of a method of birth control used by over four million women," the news anchor said. "The Ortho-Evra birth-control patch may double the risk of blood clots when compared with the more standard oral birth control pill. Women are advised to consult with their doctor if they have any questions or concerns regarding…"

As Catherine, lulled by the anchor's steady tone, was about to doze off, Grissom shot up in his seat, his chair flung back onto the floor on its side. He rushed out of the room before she could question him. Catherine sighed and checked her watch. She was waiting for Hodges to page her with the results on some trace fibers from her case and then she was out of there for the weekend. She considered calling Sam up and inviting him to breakfast -- on the condition that he did not bring up the subject of England, ships, or Queen Elizabeth. It was a small step, but she knew she'd have to take it. She'd hate herself if she didn't.

The page came and Catherine consulted with Hodges as quickly as she could before signing out. She ambled to the locker rooms and found Nick, Grissom, and Sara in various stages of departure. Nick closed his locker and wished everyone a good morning before leaving. Catherine unloaded her pocketbook from her locker and tossed her cell and pager in it. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sara massage the upper right side of her ass.

"You okay, Sara? Did you pull something?"

"You could say that," the young woman answered. "I'm fine, Catherine. Don't worry." Before the blonde could return her attention to the belongings in her locker, she saw Sara scowl at Grissom. Catherine narrowed her eyes as she watched the brunette give her behind one more rub and then throw on her jacket. Sara shut her locker and left the locker room quickly. She glanced at Grissom whose concentration still seemed to be on the woman who left the room.

And then the investigator in Catherine kicked in.

Eyebrows raised, she slipped on her coat and shut her locker. "You know, Gil, most women don't like their boyfriends interfering with their birth control."

"One word, Grandma, and you're in trouble."

THE END

A/N: I've been reading articles about the side effects of the birth control patch for a while now, and the most recent article about the FDA briefing gave me pause. I'm not sure if giving links is allowed, but the article is on the CNN website.


End file.
